


Feels So Useless, I Know It's Wrong

by Icarus (Slickarus)



Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Hanschen in a church, Post Moritz's Death, idk if it's canon era but it's not not?, idk it's some weird thing about religion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-10 21:09:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13509834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slickarus/pseuds/Icarus
Summary: Hanschen Rilow breaks into the church after Moritz's funeral to get even with God, or something like that.





	Feels So Useless, I Know It's Wrong

**Author's Note:**

> I never know what's going on. Also important to note I haven't been to church in forever.

Hanschen never thought he’d come running to the church.

Well, running back wasn’t exactly the way to put it. His slow footsteps echoed against the holy walls as he made his way down the aisle, wondering where he should stop. There was the sixth pew, where he once sat next to his father and recited prayers, but this didn’t feel like a sixth-pew thing. This felt like something much more important than the regular Sunday service, despite the fact that there was no one here except for him. He wouldn’t even admit it in his mind, but this was something that he needed to take up with the big man himself.

He hesitated when he reached the altar, wondering whether he should even be up here. What if he left fingerprints in the dust on the tablecloth and someone found out that he’d broken into the church? Could they send him to jail for that? Still, he climbed up behind the podium and stared out at the empty rows. He stared out and could picture his friends’ faces as they’d been mere days ago, full of tears and snot and redness. He remembered watching the pastor drone on without a trace of tragedy in his voice and Hanschen felt something boiling inside of him, even then.

Hanschen stared up at the vaulted ceiling, wondering if maybe someone was watching. Maybe Moritz was watching. Maybe he was floating around like the wispy nothing he’d become, trapped beneath the rafters and caught up like cobwebs. Everyone knew there was no rest for people like him, people who’d chosen to follow their own plans instead. Hanschen could hear it in the half-assed sermon, see it in the hardened faces of the saints on the walls. It left a bitter taste in his mouth. He hated how they could be so blind to all the sin around them. If they knew even a sliver about who Hanschen was and what he thought, they would drag him out by his collar. Instead, they praised his dedication and piety. Sure, piety, when all he wanted to do was piss in the sacramental wine. Blood of Christ, indeed.

Hanschen opened his mouth but he didn’t know what to say. Should he cry out? Make even the heavens roar with his anger, with the hot white anger inside of him? That was it really, he wasn’t sad at all. Maybe he should have been. Maybe he should have wept by Moritz’s grave and wept during the service and cried in the middle of class. After all, he wouldn’t be the only one. Instead, he felt a storm roaring between his ears and the desire to scream anytime someone opened their mouth to say what a shame it was that Moritz wasn’t better, wasn’t more faithful, was turned away from the light. Hanschen sincerely hoped that Moritz had found peace in the afterlife, because he certainly did not have peace on earth even after his death. 

But he didn’t scream. He silently grabbed ahold of the candlestick nearest to him and threw it on the floor. It fell with a loud thud and he threw another. The candles were snapped but the sticks were largely unharmed; he didn’t care. He ripped the cloth off of the altar and threw it into the pews. He heaved the table over. His hands were itching for something, anything, to strip away this pristine image. Maybe if he got rid of enough of this facade, the darkness beneath it would show. Finally, a sermon with some truth. After a few minutes of throwing everything he could get his hands on, he stopped and stared down at the mess he’d made. Compared to the size of the building, it was utterly insignificant. A tiny blotch on an otherwise unchanged front. That was all he would ever be. He sighed, took one last look at the ceiling as if it might hold the answers, and then began his walk back down the aisle to go home. His father would ask him how his afternoon was, and he would reply that it was fine, and no one would find out that he was the one who broke into the church. It would be perfect if it had done anything at all to quiet his anger.


End file.
